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Horses must drink and they were creatures of habit, never ranging far from some one hole they had made their own. Trinfan blankets already flapped about the Pinto’s chosen spring. They had seen the horses approach several times in the past two days and shy away from those flapping things with the fearsome man scent.
"The man who says Teodoro Trinfan is ladrón—bad one—him I kill!" Drew’s left arm swept out across the boy’s chest, pinning him back against the stable. "Now, what’s your story?" the Kentuckian asked the man he fronted. "An’ jus’ what’s all this smokin’ ’bout?" Kells came out. "You, Shannon, what’re you doin’ here? Been drinkin’ again, fightin’, too, by th’ look of you." "Señor Kells."
Perhaps he will come, too. If he does"—Trinfan snapped his fingers—"I shall be waiting with a rifle. We take no more chances with that one! Anyway, the mares will be heavy and slow with all the water in their bellies. They can be herded into our trap. Then he will come, sí, that one will come—no one can take his mares from him! He will be mad with rage, too angry to be any longer so cunning.
In spite of the cold of the night, Drew was wet with sweat as they threaded through heady sage brush. Now came the scent of horses, the sound of a hoof stamped impatiently on gravel. "Trinfan?" Topham! Here? "Sí." At Hilario’s hissed assent, a figure detached itself from the utter black of the bushes and moved forward into a sliver of moonlight. "You got him?" "I’m here, if that’s what you mean!"
I’m stayin’ here. I can say we were fired and Trinfan took me on as a hand." Anse was the better rider under these circumstances, and the better scout. To wait to pick up a third horse was folly. "What about Shannon?" "Shannon’ll have to wait!" Drew slapped the Texan’s horse. It reared and then pounded off. Drew turned to walk back to the camp. He rounded the end of the ridge and stopped short.
There’s free land to be had in the valley. Some of the ranchers cleared out when the Apaches started raidin’ and they’re not comin’ back. We might look over what Trinfan has picked up as long as we are out here. I know the Old Man hasn’t contracted for anything but gettin’ rid of that Pinto stud. We could make an offer for any good slicks—put the Spur R on them and run them in on the Range.
For three days before we found that trail we had been building a pen for wild ones, casting about for the tracks and runs of the Pinto’s band. Having done so, we would not leave without completing our drive. And, should those out there suspect"—Trinfan shook his head—"we would not have lived to reach the Stronghold, and that is the truth." "This is also truth, padre."
Sí, that was a great pity, Don Cazar. Well, we shall try, we shall try this time to put that diablo under!" An hour later Drew was facing a diablo of his own, with far less confidence than Hilario Trinfan had voiced. Just how stupid could one be? Around him now were men trained from early childhood to this life, and he could show no skill at their employment.
"Iffen Kirby here hadn’t been to hand, Johnny would have skinned th’ Trinfan kid with his quirt—jus’ ’cause he dropped his purse outside th’ Jacks an’ th’ kid followed him to give it back. Johnny’s meaner than a drunk Injun these days. That’s Bible-swear truth, Rennie." "To lose a war makes a man bitter," Don Cazar said slowly. "Johnny was far too young when he ran away to join Howard.
Above that we were—moving in from this side. To do so we crossed here." A black-rimmed nail stabbed into the dust. "It is then we see the tracks—five ahead—all shod horses, but not ridden, save for one." "Apaches could have been running them," Drew commented. "No." Trinfan shook his head. "This far from pursuit the Apaches would not have moved so. The Indio, he eats horseflesh.
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